


You know what they do to guys like us in prison

by Unholy



Series: 5SOS: Songfics [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst, Blood, Fire, Fugitives, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Prison, Punk Ashton, Songfic, Violence, mentions of drug use, this took me forever to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unholy/pseuds/Unholy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He finally started running on his own accord, so Calum didn’t have to drag him anymore, and made his way down the street, Calum only about two steps in front of him. He heard the sound of breaking glass behind him and more footsteps - the cops were following them.<br/>They rounded a corner and raced across the pavement, panting heavily. The sounds of running footsteps and yelling voices seemed to get closer and closer with each step that he tried to take </em>away <em>from them. Calum glanced at him over his shoulder and Michael could see the sheer</em> panic <em>in his best friend’s eyes - he was sure Calum saw it in his as well.</em></p><p>Or the one where Calum and Michael are partners in crime and it’s them against the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They make me do pushups in drag

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Michael scoffed. “Elton? Wow, didn’t see that one coming. I must say that Elton John sounds a lot better than Elton Bailey. Looks better, as well,” he smirked. He could see that Bailey tried his best to not lose his temper as he glared at him. The red-haired boy mentally gave himself a pat on the shoulder. He might go down, but he’d go down in_ style _, damn it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on this song: [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Khp8j2I7jxk)]. The lyrics aren't always in order but eh, who cares :') Hope you like it! Please leave a kudo / comment - it means the world.

_In the middle of a gun fight._

 

Michael and Calum were partners in crime. It had always been that way, even when they were little. They would go to the local candy shop, Michael stuffing all kinds of sweets in the pockets of his jacket while Calum distracted the owner of the store. Afterwards, they’d go to one of their houses and sit on their bed, munching on the gummy bears and chocolate bars until they got sick, only to repeat it several days later.

By the time they were fourteen, they had pretty much become professional shoplifters. They had tactics that they used every time - and they always worked. Never had they been caught, and they weren’t planning on letting that change anytime soon. Their tactics were subtle and smooth, perfected after countless times of repeating. Michael would walk into the shop first, just walking around for a while, seemingly looking for something. A few minutes later, Calum would follow. He also looked around for a bit, eventually, approaching an employee and leading them to the other side of the shop, leaving Michael to pick whatever they’d targeted and quickly leave the shop. Calum would join him a bit later after he’d ditched the employee. Sometimes they changed roles in order to not be too suspicious.

It was just some ‘innocent’ shoplifting, nothing severe. The only things they’d steal were food, video games, some eyeliner from time to time (because Michael was punk rock and he needed that, okay) and just nice stuff they happened to come across. Nothing too serious, nothing too dangerous.

A lot changed as they got older.

When he was sixteen, Michael found his dad’s gun, hidden in the very back of his wardrobe (Michael was looking for a tie to wear to prom, okay, don’t judge him). He had stared at it for the better part of twenty minutes before carefully lifting it up. It was a lot heavier than he’d expected it to be. The black metal gleamed in the weak sunlight that shone through the bedroom windows, and Michael just looked at the object in awe. He glanced around quickly to make sure no one had seen him - even though he knew he was home alone - and put the gun in the waistband of his pants, making sure his shirt fell over it to hide it as he stood up and went over to Calum’s place.

That’s when things started to get more serious.

By the time they were eighteen and nineteen, they’d both dropped out of school and lived of the crimes they committed. They slept wherever they found a place - in vacant houses, in sheds in people’s backyards (secretly, of course), even the cliché under bridges or on park benches. They crashed at their own houses sometimes, but it’s not like they were really welcome there anymore, so that was rather rare.

Right now, they were short on money. Michael stood up from where he had been sitting on the floor of the old, abandoned residence he and Calum had been staying at for the past few days - there even was running water here, they didn’t get that luxury often - and grabbed his gun from the waistband of his jeans.

“How ‘bout we go for a bender tonight?” he offered, looking at Calum expectantly. The dark-haired boy nodded, grinning. “I’m in. What did you have in mind?”

Michael took the magazine out of his gun and reloaded it. “There’s this new restaurant a few miles away from here. Why don’t we try that one?”

Calum hummed his agreement and went to their duffle bags to change into his black skinny jeans, black shirt and black jacket, and Michael did the same. They both had black ski masks, like proper criminals, and Michael still scoffed every time he took his out of his bag. It was ridiculous, he knew that, and he laughed at himself and at Calum every time they wore them. He couldn’t deny that the crimes they committed gave him a kick, though. He enjoyed it way more than he probably should, but he really couldn’t care less. He had Calum and Calum had him, that was all they needed.

Calum also reloaded his gun and then he and Michael were out of the house, on their way to the restaurant, duffle bags swung over their shoulders.

 

_In the centre of a restaurant._

 

They ducked into an alley near the building they’d targeted and put on their ski masks, double-checked their guns, and gave each other a hug and a pat on the back as a way to say ‘good luck, stay alive’. Calum went in first, Michael following close behind. A few people looked up when they entered, either freezing immediately or starting to scream as they saw the two boys dressed in all black, guns out and at the ready.

“Nobody move!” Calum ordered as he strutted to the counted, aiming his gun at the cashier, Michael’s back pressed up against his. The redhead had his gun pointed at the customers, keeping an eye on them and making sure nothing happened.

Well, of course he couldn’t always be sure of that.

“Give me the money,” Calum demanded, and he grinned slyly as the girl opened the cash register and started taking the bills out, placing them on the counter with shaking hands. The tanned boy quickly shoved them into his duffle bag as Michael eyed the people in the restaurant. It was quite a big place, so he couldn’t watch everyone at the same time.

He guessed that’s what killed them off.

As he was looking at this suspicious guy in the far right corner, a group of four men stood up from their table and surged forward, grabbing their _guns_ in the progress. Michael jerked around when he heard them, raising his gun until it pointed at one of the guys’ heads. His eyes flickered down briefly, but he’d had plenty of time to see the _badge_ on the man’s belt. The others had identical ones.

They were _cops_.

Michael took a sharp breath, nudging Calum with his elbow. “Trouble,” he whispered, loud enough to make the other boy turn around with wide, panic-struck eyes. “Oh shit,” he mumbled, raising his gun at the group of men. The four cops all had their guns pointed at the two boys, who were now trembling quite a bit - but they held their ground.

“Police, lower your weapons,” one of them said. He was wearing a white blouse with a black leather jacket over it and dark blue jeans. He didn’t even look a tiny bit afraid, even though Michael had his gun aimed at the man’s head.

“You lower yours,” Michael shot back. The cop snorted and took a step closer. “C’mon kid, I don’t have time for this. Put the gun down and I can cut you a deal.”

Michael shook his head at the same time as Calum, knowing that neither of them would _ever_ give up like that. The tanned boy took a step closer as well, so he was standing next to Michael. They were always like this - side by side.

 

_Well, they’re never gonna get me, like a bullet through a flock of doves._

 

Michael looked at the cop most to the left sharply - that guy had pointed his gun a little higher, and more to the right, so it wasn’t aimed at _Michael_ anymore.

It was aimed at _Calum_.

Michael felt the blood in his veins run cold as he realised the man was going to _shoot_. He didn’t know _how_ he knew that - he just did. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He shot first.

Two loud ‘pang’s followed each other with less than a second in between. The bullet that the cop had fired flew past Calum and hit the counter, sending splinters of wood in all directions. Michael’s bullet, however, hit bull’s-eye. The cop stared at him, chest turning red quickly as the blood started to gush from his gunshot wound. Michael saw the light in his eyes flicker and then fade. As his body fell to the floor with a heavy ‘thud’, Michael could only stare at him, at the empty look in his eyes, at the large pool of blood on the tiled floor. He barely even registered the third gunshot, and wasn’t really pulled out of his thoughts of _Oh god no what have I done_ as Calum gripped his upper arm and dragged him away, pushing his head down when more guns were fired and bullets flew their way. Michael only came back to senses as the cold evening air hit him, seeping right through his clothes and making him shiver. He finally started running on his own accord, so Calum didn’t have to drag him anymore, and made his way down the street, Calum only about two steps in front of him. He heard the sound of breaking glass behind him and more footsteps - the cops were following them.

They rounded a corner and raced across the pavement, panting heavily. The sounds of running footsteps and yelling voices seemed to get closer and closer with each step that he tried to take _away_ from them. Calum glanced at him over his shoulder and Michael could see the sheer _panic_ in his best friend’s eyes - he was sure Calum saw it in his as well.

The two boys darted into an alley, Calum still slightly ahead of Michael, and cursed loudly when they almost ran straight into a wall. They’d gone into a blind alley - _wonderful_. Michael doubled over, hands on his knees, as he tried to regain his breath. The cops were coming closer - they wouldn’t be able to get out of the goddamn alley anymore because then the cops would be mere _steps_ away, but they also couldn’t stay because they were _trapped_.

Michael and Calum shared a look and nodded at the same time. Their decision had been made within seconds - they wouldn’t go down without a fight. Both of them hid behind a trashcan, of which there were plenty in the narrow alley, and raised their guns, ready to fight for their lives.

 

_They say: “Come with your arms raised high!”_

 

When the first cop came in sight, both Calum and Michael fired their guns. They both missed, and the guy ducked away, against the wall. They heard slight panting and hushed voices. One of those eventually spoke up.

“We’ve got you now, kids, you’re trapped. Throw your guns out first and then slowly come forth, hands behind your head.”

The two boys shared a look again and shook their heads at the same time. Michael fired his gun again, mostly for show and hoping to scare the cops away, but he knew it wouldn’t be much help - it was a lost cause, they were caught and couldn’t escape.

A hand with a gun in it came around the corner and Michael barely had the time to yell “Watch out!” to Calum and press himself up against the wall, safely hidden behind his dumpster. The bullet ricocheted against the metal of the trash can. He heard Calum wince from the other side of the alley and felt a wave of _despair_ wash over him.

They weren’t going to make it.

He made eye contact with Calum and stared into his eyes intensely. The tanned boy seemed to understand what he meant, as he took his duffle bag off his shoulder, careful to not make a sound, and ditched in a dark corner, behind a pile of trash, where he hoped the cops wouldn’t look. They shared eye contact once again, completely understanding each other and Michael had never felt more glad that they had such a great bond that they were able to do that.

“Alright, we’re coming out!” he yelled, standing up cautiously, and went over to Calum to help him up when the hand with the gun disappeared.

“Put your guns on the ground and kick them this way first,” a voice said. Michael wordlessly dropped the cold metal object to the floor, staring down at it for a few seconds before shoving it out of the alley with a push of his foot, Calum’s gun following shortly.

“Okay, now slowly come out yourselves.”

Michael gathered Calum in his arms for a moment, breathing in the boy’s scent and cherishing the - possibly last - moment with his best friend. Then he put his hands on the back of his head and casually walked towards the street. Two of the cops were standing pressed up against the wall, guns out and aimed at his chest and forehead. He rolled his eyes as he came to a halt, Calum right next to him, as always. One of the cops gestured to his head with his gun. “Take your masks off.”

Both boys slowly lowered one hand to their chins and peeled the black ski masks off their heads, leaving them exposed to the chilly air.

 

_To wage this war against your faith in me._

 

“Turn around, hands behind your back,” the other cop spoke up. Calum and Michael slowly turned around at the same time, placing their hands crossed at their lower back in exactly the same way. The clicking sound of handcuffs and the cold feeling of the metal against the skin of their wrists followed as the cops cuffed them and violently pulled them along by their bicep.

“You are under arrest for attempted robbery and murder of two police officers. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law...” one of the cops droned, leading the boys to the police car a few blocks away with more force than necessary. Michael couldn’t blame them, really - but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to take their own gun and shoot them when Calum whimpered as he stumbled, the officer roughly pulling him up by his arm, grip tight enough to leave a bruise. He watched the police car they were being led to, ducking his head as the cop pushed him onto the back seat. Calum was forced in soon after him, and they sat in silence as the two police officers stood outside, talking to some other people. Michael saw flashing blue and red lights coming from the direction of the restaurant, and couldn’t help but think about the two cops they’d shot - _killed_. He turned to Calum. The dark-haired boy was unusually pale and his eyes were so wide Michael was afraid they would pop out of his head.

“What exactly happened after I shot that cop in the restaurant?” he asked his friend. Calum swallowed and stared at him for a few moments, seemingly not really seeing anything, before he answered. “That other cop was gonna shoot _you_ ,” he said shakily, finally meeting Michael’s gaze and the older boy saw nothing but _pain_ in them. “So I shot him to protect you.”

“I shot that guy for the same reason,” he replied, his voice monotone as he thought of what he’d done. He might be a criminal, but he wasn’t a _murderer_ \- at least, he _had_ never been. “He was gonna shoot you so I had to stop him.”

Calum looked at him with a mixture of gratefulness and fear in his eyes, and Michael nodded at him encouragingly.

“It’s gonna be alright, Cal.”

 

_Your life will never be the same._

 

The two boys sat in the back of the patrol car for quite a while - almost forty-five minutes, Michael saw on the clock in the dashboard - shifting and fidgeting the entire time because it was quite uncomfortable with their hands cuffed behind their back. In the meantime, it seemed like the entire Sydney Police Department had come to the restaurant - countless police cars were standing on various places down the street and the coroner’s van had parked only a few metres away from the car they were in - and there was even an ambulance. Michael couldn’t see the restaurant from here - it was around the corner and further down the street - but not too long after the coroner arrived, a few men in white coats walked by, pushing two stretchers with a white cloth over them to the van. Michael’s heart stopped for a moment when he saw a hand peeking out from under the cover - there was a small trail of blood on the man’s fingers and Michael felt sick.

Those were the cops they’d killed.

He watched as they lifted the bodies into the van and drove off. The cops that had arrested them came back soon after that and only shot them a look filled with _disgust_ , before driving off without saying a word.

 

_On your mother’s eyes, say a prayer._

 

Once they arrived at the precinct, Michael and Calum were dragged out of the car hard-handed and led to the cell block. Michael looked at Calum with panic-struck eyes when the tanned boy’s cuffs were taken off and he was pushed into a cell, and Michael into one a few doors down. Before the police officer closed the door behind him, he said: “You’ll be brought to the interrogation room within the hour.”

So Michael sat down on the wooden bench in his small, temporary cell of two by two metres. The walls were made of plain concrete and the door was made of vertical iron bars, about two inches away from each other. It was cold.

Michael was scared.

 

As the cop had promised, not even half an hour later two other police officers came down to his cell and opened the door, stepping in. They cuffed him again and held a tight grip on his bicep as they brought him through some hallways and to an elevator. As they passed Calum’s cell, Michael shot a quick look inside. The younger boy was sat on the bench, staring at him as he walked past. Michael tried to tell him ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be alright, we’ll be fine’ through their eye contact.

He hoped it worked.

Once they arrived in the interrogation room, there already were two people waiting for them. Michael was pushed down in a metal chair and glared daggers at everyone in the room. The cop on the other side of the table was one of the four from the restaurant, he recognised. He was wearing khaki pants and the kind of black leather shoes that only posh, _snooty_ men have. Michael didn’t know the other guy.

Well, this was going to be fun.

“Michael Clifford,” the cop said, almost teasingly slow. Michael rolled his eyes and slumped down in his chair a bit more. In this position, the fact that his hands were cuffed behind his back was even more uncomfortable, but he pretended it didn’t bother him. He glanced at the name tag on the guy’s chest - _E. Bailey_ \- and raised an eyebrow.

“Officer Bailey,” he said, a smirk pulling the corners of his mouth upwards. “What’s your first name? Evan? Eric? Ethan? Maybe Earl? You look like an Earl.”

The cop - Bailey - growled, looking severely pissed. “It’s Elton,” he said, glaring at Michael. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Michael scoffed. “Elton? Wow, didn’t see that one coming. I must say that Elton John sounds a lot better than Elton Bailey. Looks better, as well,” he smirked. He could see that Bailey tried his best to not lose his temper as he glared at him. The red-haired boy mentally gave himself a pat on the shoulder. He might go down, but he’d go down in _style_ , damn it.

“I have the right to a lawyer, right? Then why don’t I have one? I’m not saying anything without a lawyer,” he said, glaring right back at the cop. Bailey sighed and turned to the two officers who were standing by the door. One of them exited the room. While he was off getting Michael’s lawyer, Bailey introduced the other guy. “This is the district attorney, Mr Taylor.” Michael just shot him a long look and didn’t say anything.

 

_They all cheat at cards and the checkers are lost._

 

Several moments later, the cop returned with another man in tow. He was wearing a pinstripe suit with a plain black tie, his dark brown hair pushed back with - probably expensive - hair gel and a black briefcase in his hand. He looked like the kind of men that Michael despised with a passion, but if this was his only chance - he’d go with it.

“Hello, Mr Clifford, I am John Morgan, your lawyer,” he said. Michael suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and nodded, mumbling a “Hey man”.

“Have you informed Mr Clifford of his rights? And what exactly are the charges? I haven’t really been told anything yet,” Morgan asked, sitting down in the chair next to Michael and looking at Bailey with a look that screamed of authority. Bailey nodded. “Yes, we have. And Mr Clifford,” he shot Michael a dirty look, which only earned him another eye roll, “is arrested for attempted robbery and first degree murder.” Morgan nodded a few times, glancing at Michael to look him up and down. Before he got the chance to say anything, though, Bailey continued.

“So, Clifford, why were you and your friend robbing that restaurant?” he asked. Michael looked at Morgan, who nodded slightly. “Because we needed money,” Michael answered. Bailey scribbled something down in a notebook he’d brought. “There have been quite a lot more robberies in the past few months, all in the same style as the one today.” He let his voice trail off and looked at Michael expectantly. Morgan cut in, however. “Don’t answer that. Officer Bailey, the charges are _attempted_ robbery, this has nothing to do with that.”

Bailey shrugged, like he’d expected this to happen already but had tried anyway. “Alright then. So you confess to trying to rob that restaurant today?” Michael rolled his eyes again. “Well, duh. It’s not like I can deny that, now can I?”

Bailey nodded and made more notes. “And, Mr Clifford, do you confess to the murder of officer Williams in that same restaurant?”

Michel shrugged. “I don’t know who officer Williams is,” he replied cockily. Morgan leaned over to him and whispered in his ear: “Play nice. I might be able to cut you a deal if you cooperate.” Michael bit his lip and nodded.

“He was gonna shoot me. It was self-defence,” Michael replied. Bailey raised his eyebrows. “So how did you know he was going to shoot?” he shot back.

“Oh, I don’t know. The bullet that barely missed me right after I fired my gun might say something, though,” Michael said, sarcasm dripping off his voice. Bailey started to get annoyed, he could see it in his eyes.

“Did you or did you not kill that police officer back in the restaurant?!” the cop yelled, slamming his hands on the table. Michael didn’t even flinch.

“Yes,” he said coldly. “He was gonna shoot my friend. I didn’t have a choice.”

A smirk grew on Bailey’s face. “So it wasn’t self-defence,” he said, grinning just a tad too widely. Michael realised his mistake and tried to save himself. “It’s not first degree. I didn’t plan on walking into that restaurant to randomly kill people. I didn’t mean to kill that guy.” Bailey shook his head, turning to the district attorney. “I think we have enough, don’t we?” he asked. Taylor hummed his agreement. “My idea. He knew very well what he was doing when he shot officer Williams. Seems like it _was_ murder in the first degree after all. We don’t need to cut a deal - we have enough.”

Michael felt panic bubble up in his chest, and he didn’t even try to suppress it. “No, no no no wait!” he said, tugging at the cuffs, which only resulted in his wrists to start bleeding. He hissed at the pain but kept struggling as the two cops at the door dragged him out and back to his cell. On the way there, they ran into Calum, who was now being led to the interrogation room. Michael looked him in the eye and saw they were brimmed with tears of fear. Michael stopped his struggling in an attempt to calm his best friend down, but it probably didn’t help much.

They were caught for _murder_.

 

The day their case would be in court came terrifyingly fast. They were pushed into the back of a police van, hands cuffed behind their backs once again, dressed in the standard orange prison uniform, and transported to court, where they were once again put in small cells, but together this time, awaiting their trial. Michael inched closer to Calum and engulfed the younger boy in a hug. Before they were loaded into the van this morning, they hadn’t seen each other in a couple of days and they’d missed each other, of course. Calum clung to him like a frightened child, and Michael could feel him tremble. They sat like that for a while, until footsteps sounded outside the door and just a few seconds later, police officers came in. Their case was prosecuted as one, because they had committed the same crime and would surely get the same penalty.

 

_Will they give me the chair? Or lethal injection, or swing from a rope if you dare?_

 

When they entered the court room, Michael’s heart seemed to come to a stop; as soon as he stepped over the threshold, he looked into his parents’ eyes - and Calum’s, but he didn’t really pay much attention to them -. They were here and Michael felt his walls crumble for a moment when he saw the look in their eyes.

He quickly built his wall back up again, and it might have some cracks in it now, but he wasn’t going to have a breakdown in front of this many people. Both he and Calum sat down in the chairs that were meant for the suspects, hands cuffed in front of them this time, so they could move around more properly. Michael felt his parents’ eyes burn a hole in the back of his head as they kept staring at him and he tried not to cry, gripping onto Calum’s cuffed hands like it was a lifeline, which, for him, in that moment, it _was_.

Then the judge slammed the wooden hammer down and demanded ‘Order’, and trial began.

 

-

 

Michael hadn’t expected the outcome to be good in _any_ way - they’d get at least twenty years for murder, he had known that, and there was a great chance they’d even get _life_. But what they actually got, he hadn’t considered an option.

They were on death row.

For first degree murder on two very respected cops - and not to mention personal friends of the judge, of course, which probably stimulated the decision. Michael fought against the cops as they took him back out of the court of law and back into the van. Calum didn’t even protest - he was crying mutely and clinging to Michael like his life depended on it.

Maybe the younger boy really felt like it _did_ , Michael thought.

 

-

 

The cells they were brought to this time were _so_ much different. They were bigger, brighter - there even was a window that looked over the courtyard. As they led Michael inside and took off his cuffs, Calum walked past, dried tear-tracks on his face. They brought him to another cell, a few doors down and in the same row as Michael’s - there were cells on both sides of the hallway, made so that you could look into the one opposite of you, which basically meant you had no privacy.

Like they tried to make your last moments even worse.

Michael took a look around. His cell wasn’t _too_ bad, he thought. He’d slept in worse places the past few months. Here, he had a proper bed, a table with a chair, a small wardrobe and even an old television. The walls were plain and boring and gave it a cold feel, but there was a door that led to what Michael suspected was the bathroom. He sank down on the bed, head in his hands, trying very hard not to cry and managing pretty well.

After a while, an unfamiliar voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Welcome home, dude.”

 

_My cellmate’s a killer._

 

Michael looked up, only to see a big guy standing in his own cell, a few metres away, across the hallway. Michael stared at him for a few seconds before standing up and walking over to the bars of his cell. The man - or _boy_ , maybe even, he couldn’t be much older than twenty, even though he looked older and _tired_ \- in the other cell was about six feet tall, he guessed, and was wearing the prison uniform: a wide, orange shirt with short sleeves, orange pants and black boots with no laces. Michael was wearing exactly the same outfit, only he had no tattoos, and the guy in front of him was completely _covered_ in those. They appeared from somewhere under the short sleeves of his shirt and extended all the way to even on his fingers and neck, almost touching his jawline. The guy was also wearing a black bandana, which seemed to keep his wild curls down somewhat. Michael eyed him warily, even though there were two layers of bars and a few metres in between them.

“Who are you?” Michael asked him. The guy scoffed, one of the corners of his mouth curling up just a little bit. “M’name’s Ashton. Ashton Irwin. You can call me Ash, though” he replied, raising an - apparently pierced - eyebrow. “You?”

Michael took a good, long look at him. The guy seemed to have been in here for a while, and apparently, it didn’t bother him anymore. Michael hoped that would count for him as well.

“Michael,” he said after a few moments, looking the guy - _Ashton_ \- in the eye. “Michael Clifford. Don’t call me Mike, or Mikey, or whatever, I’ll kill you.”

Ashton chuckled darkly, taking a step forward and wrapping his freakishly long fingers around two of the iron bars that prevented him from escaping. “Really now? What’re you in for, then?”

Michael glared at him, not appreciating his attitude. This guy was seriously pissing him off and he didn’t even really know _why_.

Maybe because he wished he could be as indifferent as him.

“What are _you_ in for?” he shot back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Ashton grinned widely and tilted his head backwards slightly, so he looked even more cocky than he already had before. “’M surprised you don’t know, I must say. Don’t you ever watch the news? I’ve been here for about half a year already.” Michael snorted. “Been living on the streets for almost a year now, so I haven’t really had a TV,” he said. Ashton raised both his eyebrows, feigning an impressed look. “Alright. I’m in for drug dealing and drug use, but mainly triple homicide. Killed five guys, actually, but they couldn’t get me for the other two.” He chuckled again, talking in a casual tone like he was talking about his favourite music. “What about you, kid?”

Michael glared at him and made a small grumbling noise in the back of his throat. “Shot a police officer. He didn’t make it. Also robbery but that’s basically nothing,” he said, voice lacking any form of emotion. He just sounded _empty_. Ashton frowned, his expression changing from cocky to something close to worried - but not entirely.

“Why would you be stupid enough to kill a police officer?” he asked, but it didn’t sound mocking or disdainful. Michael shrugged, hugging himself and averting his gaze to the floor. “He was gonna shoot my best friend. What choice did I have?” he said. Ashton rubbed his chin thoughtfully, scruff tickling his fingers. “It kinda sounds like you’re justifying it to yourself, mate,” he noted cautiously. Michael frowned, kicking at some dust on the floor and still refusing to meet Ashton’s gaze.

“That’s the same reason I did it, though,” the curly-haired boy said, trying to get eye-contact with Michael. “They were drug dealers, part of a gang, and they were gonna kill my friend. I had to stop them, so I did.” He took a deep breath and released the bars as his palms got a bit sweaty. “He’s in for drug use now. Not on death row, though. He probably doesn’t even know _I_ am.” His expression darkened and he suddenly looked like he aged ten years. “Gonna be quite a shocker for him when he finds out.”

Michael wanted to say something comforting, but he couldn’t think of anything, so he just settled for a sad smile and a - hopefully - empathetic look.

“Where’s your best friend now?” the curly-haired boy asked softly, sensing Michael’s sad mood. Michael pulled a face and rubbed his eyes tiredly, a sudden wave of fatigue washing over him. “A few doors down. He killed another cop when that guy wanted to shoot me.”

Ashton’s eyes went wide for a moment before he composed himself. “Damn, that’s quite the sob story. I’m sorry.”

Michael nodded, trying desperately to keep his tears at bay but failing miserably. Ashton was nice enough to pretend he didn’t notice.

“I’m just gonna lie down for a minute. Kinda tired,” Michael muttered, cringing at how badly his voice cracked. Ashton shot him a sad smile and nodded.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading if you've read it all! :) Please leave a kudo / comment and tell me what you think <3


	2. Well, I miss my mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He tried to keep his breathing as quiet as possible as the running footsteps ceased and only the click-clack of expensive black leather shoes on the hard concrete was heard. It was almost_ agonisingly _slow, like the cop_ knew _they were hiding there, and_ knew _they were stuck and couldn’t get away anymore. Michael closed his eyes tightly, counting to ten over and over again to keep himself from panicking as the annoying_ click-clack-click-clack _of the shoes got closer and closer with every step the guy took._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this does not break your heart too much

_But nobody cares if you’re losing yourself... am I losing myself?_

 

Three months.

It had been three months since Michael and Calum had moved into their cells. Three months since Michael had first talked to Ashton. Three months since the start of their - now really good - friendship.

But also three months since Michael had last talked to Calum.

It was killing him. He had never gone _so_ long without the tanned boy, even not when they were babies - their parents were friends as well so they used to play together all the time when they couldn’t even sit up by themselves yet, and the fact that he hadn’t seen him in _this_ long made him go crazy.

Also, Ashton was being weird today, and Michael kind of worried about him. Usually, the curly-haired boy would be all sarcasm and arrogant attitude, but with a big heart underneath all those layers. But now he just seemed... _off_. He wasn’t his usual cocky self, he was more reserved. He hadn’t even said a word to Michael today, he was just sitting on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the wall. Michael frowned and went up to the bars of his cell.

“Ash? What’s going on? Are you alright?” he asked softly. The tattooed boy looked up at him with glassy eyes and managed a watery smile. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, like he couldn’t manage to speak up louder. Michael’s frown deepened in worry. “No you’re not,” he retorted, raising a pierced eyebrow. “What’s bothering you?”

Ashton sighed, rubbing his hands over his face and walking over to Michael - or well, as close as he could get. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, before speaking up, gaze averted to the floor.

“Five days,” he muttered, smiling sadly and scrunching up his nose when a single tear escaped his eyes. “I have five days left.”

Michael’s eyes widened and he felt his jaw drop. He hadn’t known what the older boy’s date was, they didn’t talk about things like that. Tears gathered in his own eyes as well, but he blinked them away, swallowing to get rid of the lump in his throat.

“Oh, Ash,” he whispered, gripping to the iron bars tightly. “I... I don’t- I’m so sorry,” he choked out, trying to get eye contact with the boy. Ashton looked up and gazed into his eyes, sad smile still etched on his face. “It’s alright, I’ve known it was coming. ‘S just harder than I thought, in the end, I guess.”

Michael didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Ashton understood.

Suddenly, Michael got a determined look on his face as he looked at Ashton’s face, mask broken for the first time in three months.

He had a plan.

 

-

 

That evening, as per usual, a group of cops came in to bring them their dinner. Ashton looked unusually pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Michael frowned worriedly. Hopefully his plan would work.

After half an hour, the cops returned to take away the prisoners’ plates. Michael surged forward, clinging to the bars. “Hey, could you please get me a glass of water? I’m thirsty and my throat hurts,” he said, looking at the cop hopefully. The man seemed to think about it for a moment, but nodded eventually. “Alright then, just this once,” he said. Michael smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

About ten minutes later, the guy returned with, as promised, a glass of water in his hands. Michael smiled, maybe a bit too widely, but the guy didn’t seem to notice. “Here you go. Be quick, though.”

Michael nodded and took the glass through the bars, but dropped it in the process. It shattered in countless pieces, clattering all over the floor and Michael and the cop cursed at the same time. The man stared at him for a moment before disappearing - probably to get a broom or something similar - and told Michael to ‘stay where you are and don’t move a muscle’. As soon as the cop was out of sight, however, Michael crouched down quickly, careful not to step on any of the pieces, and grabbed a particularly large shard, which he chucked in the general direction of his bed. (Lucky for him, it landed in a crease in the white duvet, so it wasn’t noticeable unless you really looked for it.)

The cop - _P. Jason_ , as Michael read on his name tag - came back about half a minute later with a dustpan and broom, entering the cell and immediately locking it when he was in. Michael stepped back as Jason gestured for him to do so, making sure he didn’t step on the glass, and walked over to his bed, where he sat down. The police officer eyed him for a moment before starting to clean the little pieces of glass. When he turned his back to Michael for a few seconds, the red-haired boy grabbed his shard of glass and surged forward, jamming it in between the poor man’s ribs with as much force as he could manage. Jason let out a surprised and pained cry and Michael put his hand over the guy’s mouth to silence him. Ashton had looked up at the sound though, and he was now staring at the scene in front of him with wide eyes.

Jason made another chocked sound when Michael twisted the piece of glass a bit - perhaps cruelly, but it’s not like he gave a fuck -, making more blood seep out of the wound. Michael took the handcuffs from Jason’s belt, as well as his gun and keys, and chucked them on his bed before dragging the weakly struggling cop into the bathroom and cuffing him to the sink, closing the door behind him. He then put the gun in the waistband of his pants, like he had always done, and grabbed the keys. He frowned at the - at least - ten keys on the ring. How the hell would he find the right one before someone started wondering where that Jason guy was?!

Eventually he just grabbed a random one, that looked like it could fit in the lock of his cell door - there also was a small one from the guy’s locker and one with a black plastic grip, that obviously belonged to a car (Michael made a mental note to go to the parking garage to take it) - but the lock didn’t give in. He tried another one, and another one, and _another_ one, and just as he started to get desperate, the lock clicked and his cell door opened. Michael bit his lip to keep the excited noise he was about to make, in, and strode over to Ashton’s cell, fumbling with a few keys before that door also opened. Ashton stared at him with wide eyes and grabbed his collar, shaking him harshly.

“Have you completely lost your _mind_?! What the _hell_ did you just do?! Oh god, you just killed a cop. _Another_ cop, Michael, what were you _thinking_?! They’re gonna come looking for him within _minutes_!” he cried, and Michael quickly put a hand over his mouth to silence him. “Shut up or they’ll come looking right away. C’mon, we have to get Calum out of here too.”

Ashton kept muttering under his breath, probably something along the lines of ‘Killed a _cop_ , we’re absolutely screwed’, but Michael didn’t really pay much attention to him. He had had to choose between the cop or Ashton, Calum and himself, so the decision had been easy.

 

_To your room, what they ask of you, will make you want to say “So long.”_

 

They tip-toed down the hallway quietly, even though they’d already made quite some noise. The other prisoners mostly kept their mouths shut, luckily. Michael was a few steps ahead of Ashton, half walking, half running, looking for Calum’s cell. He found it five doors down from his own. It looked exactly the same as his - same furniture in the same places, seemingly not placed even an inch differently than in Michael’s cell.

The dark-haired boy was lying on his bed, head propped up on the pillow, eyes closed. The only way you could tell he was alive because his chest was moving up and down in a steady rhythm - otherwise, he didn’t move a muscle and his face was unhealthily pale under the tanned skin. Michael swallowed, before grabbing a key and trying to unlock the door. It opened at the first try.

Calum looked up as the door swung open. Michael stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the look in his best friend’s eyes. His once shiny, dark brown orbs were now dull, emotionless, _empty_.

Like Calum was _dead_ inside.

Michael swallowed again to try and get rid of the lump in his throat and took a shaky breath, stepping into the cell and extending a hand to the tanned boy. “Hey, Cal. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Calum stared at him in shock and confusion, eyes shifting down to glance at his blood-covered hands before coming back up to meet his face.

“Mikey,” he whispered, sitting up and swinging his - now _dangerously_ skinny, Michael noticed - legs over the edge of his bed. “What did you do?”

Michael shrugged, running a hand through his way too long hair - there were only a few hints of the red hair-dye left now, the rest was grown out already. Ashton still stood outside of the cell, looking around agitatedly for any cops to come check.

“Come on, Cal, we’re leaving. We gotta go, _now_ , the cops can be here any minute, we really, _really_ have to hurry.” He didn’t wait for a response, but immediately surged forward, putting an arm around Calum’s waist and pulling him up in an attempt to drag him out of the cell. (He cringed when he felt nothing but skin and bones, he could literally count all of Calum’s ribs and the orange shirt looked so _enormous_ on him, even though it was the same size as Michael’s, and for him, it was only one size too large.)

 

_Now, but I can’t._

 

Calum protested, however, pushing Michael off and recoiling. “No,” he said lowly, somewhere in between a whisper and proper speaking. Michael frowned worriedly, trying to reach for him again, but the tanned boy just flinched and wrapped his arms around himself.

“I can’t leave,” he said ever so quietly. “Don’t you realise what we did, Mikey? I _killed_ someone.” He looked at Michael with big, teary eyes, and Michael felt his heart shatter into little pieces, just like the glass earlier. “I deserve to die as well.”

He spoke _so_ quietly, it was barely audible, even in the deadly quiet prison floor, but Michael caught it anyway. The older boy gasped and made a choking sound, covering his mouth with his hands and feeling tears pool in his eyes. “Cal, don’t say things like that. You know it’s not true,” he reasoned, reaching his hands out to the tanned boy, only to be rejected once again.

“Except it _is_ ,” Calum whispered, and Michael’s tears started running down his cheeks. He suppressed a sob and looked at Ashton helplessly, but the tattooed boy was focused on something else.

Thudding footstep on the stairs.

Michael felt all colour drain from his face as he looked from the hallway to Calum and then back at the hallway, panic rising in his chest and making his heart hammer against his ribs almost painfully. Ashton finally stepped over the threshold of Calum’s cell, grabbing Michael’s wrist and dragging the boy out, despite his protests. “We have to leave _now_ , or they’ll get us. You don’t want that, do you?”

Michael choked on a sob and tried to push Ashton away, but the older boy was much stronger than him. “I want Calum...” he breathed, stretching a hand to the tanned boy, gaining nothing but a sob and a choked “I’m sorry, I can’t”.

Then Ashton grabbed the gun from the waistband of his trousers and lifted Michael up like it was nothing, flinging him over his shoulder effortlessly. Michael still resisted weakly, but eventually just went limp and made Ashton put him back down so they could run properly. They barely had time to press themselves against the wall next to the door - so the cops wouldn’t see them right away - before the door swung open and a group of five police officers all but _stormed_ inside of the hallway. Ashton and Michael slipped through the open door quietly, making it halfway down the stairs before someone noticed they were there.

That’s when they started running for their lives, once again.

 

_Nobody knows all the trouble I’ve seen._

 

They sprinted down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and jumped down the last five or so, looking around frantically for a short moment before Michael grabbed Ashton’s upper arm and pulled him into a random hallway. Running footsteps and yelling voices chased them, haunted them, _scared_ them, but they kept going. Michael didn’t know about Ashton, but he himself had been in a similar situation, that day they got arrested - which, now he thought of it, seemed like a _lifetime_ ago, which maybe it really _was_ \- and he knew what to do - or rather, what _not_ to do: run into a blind alley, or hallway, or something like that. He was not going to make that mistake again.

They darted through the building, rounding corners and pushing people out of the way, making even more men chase them. As Michael glanced at Ashton quickly, he saw the panic in the other boy’s eyes, just like he had _that_ day in Calum’s.

He was determined to not mess up again.

“Where do we go?” Ashton yelled, unable to talk any lower because of the panic and the running. Michael didn’t answer verbally, he just grabbed Ashton’s bicep and yanked him into another hallway, as he saw a sign with a car and stairs on it. Ashton seemed to realise as well and sped up, pulling his arm from Michael’s grip and sprinting down the stairs as fast as he could, Michael following close behind. They ran down stairs after stairs, until they reached the entrance of the parking garage.

“D’you have the key?” Ashton panted, putting his hands on his knees and bending over slightly to catch his breath. Michael’s chest was heaving as he grabbed the set of keys from his pocket, pushing the small button on the car key. Very faintly, somewhere in the distance, the noise of a car unlocking pierced the otherwise deadly silent atmosphere. The two boys shared a look before sprinting off in the direction of the sound, almost like a scene of a movie, and Michael kept pushing the button so the car kept making noises and they’d be able to find it.

Before they got the chance to see the flashing lights of the car, they were stopped by nearing footsteps on the concrete. Michael felt all colour drain from his face - not that there was much of that left, anyway - and grabbed Ashton’s arm, pulling the boy after him and hiding behind a car. The group of cops came closer and closer by the second and Michael could feel his chest tighten with fear, but also with determination.

He was _not_ going to get caught. Not again.

And he also wasn’t going to let them get Ashton. He wasn’t planning on failing on his _friend_ once again.

He tried to keep his breathing as quiet as possible as the running footsteps ceased and only the click-clack of expensive black leather shoes on the hard concrete was heard. It was almost _agonisingly_ slow, like the cop _knew_ they were hiding there, and _knew_ they were stuck and couldn’t get away anymore. Michael closed his eyes tightly, counting to ten over and over again to keep himself from panicking as the annoying _click-clack-click-clack_ of the shoes got closer and closer with every step the guy took.

And eventually, the police officer came in sight and Michael’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked onto the man’s hate-filled eyes.

 

_Well, I don’t remember. Why remember you?_

 

“Officer Bailey,” he said in a conversational tone, like the cop standing in front of him - gun pointed at Michael’s forehead and nothing but _hatred_ and _disgust_ written all over his face - was just an old friend that he hadn’t seen in a while. Ashton couldn’t help but scoff at Michael’s words, grinning at his friend, because they were caught anyway, so why would he even try to be nice? They were on _death row_ already, it’s not like their penalty could get any worse, now was it?

“Mister Clifford,” Bailey said, voice calm but forced, and the anger in his tone was pretty much dripping onto his too shiny shoes. Michael glared daggers, swords and all kinds of sharp objects back at the guy, subtly slipping a hand behind his back, to the waistband of his pants in the meantime. Luckily for him, Bailey didn’t notice. The guy was just _seething_ with anger in front of him, unable to keep his eyes off Michael’s face, gun _still_ pointing at his head and Michael actually felt himself erupt in cold sweat. The judge had been corrupt, he knew that, so he guessed there was a chance that Bailey was dirty too - at least, that wouldn’t surprise him _at all_.

“That police officer you killed,” Bailey said, voice shaking from fury and Michael tried his hardest not to flinch in fear of what could easily happen within the upcoming _seconds_. “His name was Patrick Jason. He was only twenty-five. Had his whole life ahead of him. And you murdered him in cold blood, just like you did with officer Williams.” Michael now suspected that the tremor in Bailey’s voice wasn’t _only_ from anger, but maybe also from _sadness_ , or something similar. He tried to keep his face stoic as he felt his skin come in contact with the cold metal of the gun and curled his fingers around the handle. Bailey still hadn’t noticed, apparently, as he just continued to look at Michael like he tried to kill him with his glare.

“Well, Elton, I have three things to say about that,” Michael said, keeping his green eyes locked with the cop’s dull blue ones. Bailey snorted and moved the gun down a little, so the barrel was now pointing at the small patch of skin in between his eyes. Michael swallowed and grabbed the handle of his gun in his hand properly now, breathing in shakily as he looked into the black barrel of the man’s gun that could mean his _death_ in no-time.

“One, I didn’t mean to kill him.” Bailey rolled his eyes and Michael pushed himself up a little, so he wasn’t sitting in such an awkward position anymore. “I know you don’t believe me, but honestly, he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Michael reasoned, catching Bailey’s eyes once again before a somewhat sadistic smirk curled the edges of his mouth upwards. “Just like that Williams-guy.”

Bailey now pretty much growled and the hands holding his gun were shaking with anger. It took _everything_ Michael had to not cringe in that moment at the _murderous_ look in Bailey’s eyes.

“Two,” he breathed, hitching the gun up and out of the waistband of his orange prison pants just a little bit, so it wasn’t too obvious. Bailey was _so_ furious he didn’t notice anyway. “ _I_ am only nineteen. I have my entire life still in front of me as well.”

He tried his best to keep his voice steady, but couldn’t _quite_ keep it from shaking, even if it was only a tiny tremor. Bailey breathed in through his nose and strode forward, pressing the gun to Michael’s forehead. Ashton let out a terrified gasp, but otherwise made no attempt to do anything - because he _couldn’t_ , in the first place, and besides, he had already seen Michael reach for his weapon, so he guessed the younger boy knew what he was doing - mostly, that is.

“Oh, and three,” Michael whispered, trying to keep his voice steady and intimidating but not managing _at all_ , and glancing up at Bailey through his eyelashes and pulling the gun completely free, “I really need to go.”

Then he pulled his hand away from behind his back in one swift movement and pressed it to Bailey’s stomach, pulling the trigger as soon as the barrel touched the blue fabric of the police officer’s uniform. The deafening sound of a gunshot pierced the air and for a few moments, time seemed to be frozen. Bailey stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, but the _loathing_ still _more_ than evident in them - and for a moment Michael was afraid he was going to shoot as well, but then his legs trembled and gave in underneath him, crumbling down onto the cold concrete with a heavy thud, gun clattering from his limp hands beside him. Ashton stared for a moment, quite shocked, before reaching forward and grabbing the weapon from the ground, pulling Michael up and dragging the younger boy away from the bleeding cop. Michael glanced one last look over his shoulder, to the body lying on the ground, and instantly regretted it - Bailey’s blue eyes were staring at him, mouth opening and closing but unable to get air into his lungs, and Michael saw the life leak out of the man before his eyes drooped shut and his head lulled to the side.

 

_And I don’t know how we’re just two men as God had made us._

 

“What kind of car is it?” Ashton asked then, pulling Michael out of his thoughts. He took the key again and glanced at the logo printed on the black plastic. “Toyota Aygo,” he stated, running his thumb over the small letters. Ashton looked around for a few moments, turning in circles as his eyes scanned all of the cars in sight.

“There,” he said eventually, pointing at a white vehicle a few rows down and the pair sprinted over to it. Michael pressed the small button on the car key once again and the taillights of the car flashed bright orange - matching their prison uniforms, Michael noticed grimly - and Ashton grinned at him, holding his hand up for a high-five. Michael returned the bright smile and smacked his - significantly smaller - hand against Ashton’s, ripping open the driver’s door and slipping inside, slamming the door shut behind them. As Ashton got in as well, he heard footsteps coming their way, before they got muffled when the curly-haired boy shut the door behind himself. Michael glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw the cops that came down here with Bailey heading toward the car they were in. He rammed the key in the keyhole and twisted it, switching on the engine. The vehicle roared to life and Michael put it in reverse, rushing out of the parking spot. They were now directly facing the police officers racing towards them. Michael and Ashton shared a look and Michael put the car into the highest acceleration and pushed the gas pedal down, causing the tires to squeak before darting forward. The group of men barely had the time to jump aside when the white car drove right over the spot they had been in mere seconds before, positively would’ve crushed them otherwise. They did attempt to take the two boys down by firing their guns at the back of the car, however, but it was a lost cause - none of them really hit.

Michael circled around in the parking garage briefly before finding the exit and accelerating even more, positively _racing_ out of the building and onto the street, almost causing an accident as he did so. Ashton couldn’t hold in the burst of relieved laughter he let out as they mixed in with the traffic, not even drawing any attention, despite their all-orange uniforms and the bullet hole in the rear window.

Michael couldn’t help but join Ash in laughing as they drove down the road, tasting the sweet flavour of _freedom_ again after _months_.

 

-

 

The first thing they did when no police cars were coming after them (or had headed the wrong way, who knew) was to go to Michael’s house. Or rather, his parents’ house. Michael parked the car on the driveway - his parents’ car was in their garage - and got out, Ashton following suit. When they reached the door, Michael realised he didn’t have a key anymore, of course, so he hesitated for a brief moment before knocking. Ashton hissed in surprise and pulled Michael back, glaring at him.

“What are you doing? Why are we going to someone’s house? Whose house is it anyway? I thought this was your hiding place!” he said, clearly freaking out. Michael shoved him out of the way, annoyed and tired and just wanting to go inside. “It’s my parents’. I hope they’ll let us in so I can get us some clothes. It would be too obvious to just go out on the street and buy stuff looking like this.” He lifted the hem of his orange shirt briefly to emphasize his point. Ashton still didn’t look convinced, but at least he wasn’t protesting anymore.

Then the door swung open and Karen was standing in the doorway, expression changing from curious to shocked and something else Michael couldn’t quite put into words. She didn’t say anything, she just stood there, staring at her son while he stared back at her, tears brimming in both of their eyes. Michael suddenly surged forward and wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck, hugging her tightly and feeling a few tears drip down his cheeks. Karen sighed but hugged Michael back, burying her face in the crook of his neck. That’s when her eyes landed on Ashton and she gasped, immediately releasing Michael and taking a step backwards, away from the dangerous-looking, tattooed guy in front of her. Michael gestured for him to come in and so he did, albeit hesitantly, sending Karen a small smile and a wave.

And inevitably, Karen caught sight of Michael’s hands, which were still covered in Jason’s blood, and her eyes filled with tears once again, but this time from fear. She put a hand over her mouth and stared at Michael in shock. The latter groaned and stuffed his hands in his pockets quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, voice hoarse from the tears he tried to keep at bay. Karen swallowed and seemed to compose herself, gently putting an arm around Michael’s shoulders and guiding him into the kitchen to wash his hands. Ashton awkwardly followed them like a lost puppy.

“Why are you here? How did you get here?” Karen asked, avoiding her son’s gaze as she handed him soap and a towel. Michael sighed and exchanged a look with Ashton while attempting to wash the dried blood off of his hands. “I um- we managed to get some keys and ran off with a cop’s car,” he admitted, purposefully leaving out the part where he murdered officer Jason. Karen seemed to notice that as well, even though she didn’t know what had happened, as she pointedly shot a long look at his - now clean - hands. “Then whose blood was that?”

Michael sighed and threw the towel down on the countertop, turning to his mother. “We need some clothes, and then we’ll leave. I don’t want to put you in danger or trouble,” he said, ignoring her question. She paled slightly as she seemed to realise what he’d done and stepped aside to let them go upstairs. Michael and Ashton hurried up the stairs and to Michael’s room, opening his wardrobe and pulling out random garments, which they shoved into sports bags Michael had stashed away somewhere in the back of his closet. The younger boy just hoped his clothes would fit Ashton as well, seeing as the curly-haired lad was quite a bit taller and more muscular than he was. They changed clothes and dumped the orange prison uniforms on the bottom of the closet, just as there was a knock on the door.

“Karen? What are you doing in Mike’s room?” Daryl Clifford said from the other side of the door as he heard the two boys rustling around, thinking it was his wife. Michael froze briefly, before swinging one of the bags over his shoulder, Ashton mimicking his movements, and opening his bedroom door, revealing his father. The man’s eyes widened almost comically for a moment, before he had two armfuls of Michael.

“Hey dad,” he whispered, letting out a sigh and taking a step back. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

Daryl nodded, ruffling his son’s hair a bit and attempting a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “You’re alive,” he said, sounding relieved. Michael nodded. “Yeah, I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon. But I won’t bother you any longer.”

He grabbed Ashton’s wrist and pulled the older boy down the stairs and out the front door, after kissing his mom on the cheek one last time. Then they jumped back into the car, throwing their bags on the backseat, and drove off.

 

_Well, I can’t._

 

They kept driving and driving, as far away from Sydney as possible, until it got so dark they couldn’t see anything anymore. Luckily, there was a motel on the side of the road. It looked old and quite abandoned, like the place didn’t get many customers, which didn’t surprise Michael - it was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. The white paint on the walls was peeling and one of the neon letters of the word ‘Motel’ on the façade wasn’t working anymore.

He and Ashton got out of the car, taking their bags and walking up to the front desk. An old man was sitting behind it, typing away on an ancient computer. He looked up when the two boys entered, raising an eyebrow.

“Hello, how can I help you?” he asked, looking at them curiously. Michael shifted a bit, uncomfortable with the man’s intense stare, so Ashton spoke up.

“Can we get a room here?” he asked, eyeing the lobby cautiously. No one else was there, but the place looked much cleaner than he’d expected. The old man nodded. “Most certainly. A room for two, I assume?” Ashton just nodded, but then his face fell. “Um, we don’t really have any money.” He exchanged a look with Michael and wanted to walk out already, but the man called them back.

“I can see you’re not here without a reason,” he said, looking each of them dead in the eye, and Michael squirmed under his stern gaze. “You don’t exactly look innocent, but I’m not one to ask questions. If you help me out with some work on the place, you can stay for free.” Michael looked at Ashton, very pleasantly surprised, and tried to resist the urge to jump over the counter and hug the man. “Here’s the key to your room,” he said, chucking a key with a red label on it on the counter, the numbers 117 written on it in faded black.

“My name’s Bob,” the man finished, sending them both a small smile. Michael decided he liked the guy.

“Michael,” he said, taking the key and twirling it around his finger. “And this is Ashton.”

Ashton raised his hand in a manner of salutation and hitched his bag a bit higher up his shoulder.

“Alright boys, I’ll see you around,” Bob said, and the two boys went up the creaky stairs to their room. It was on the third floor, that, as they found out later, was otherwise empty. The room was quite large, even for two people. There were two single beds in it, a small kitchen with a wonky table and two chairs, an old couch and even a television, which was probably even older than the one they’d had in their prison cells, but who were they to complain about something like that?

The beds were made with clean white duvets and smelled faintly of fabric softener, which surprised Michael. All the furniture and even the floor were clean, barely a speck of dust to be seen and Michael turned to look at Ashton, smiling.

Maybe this could work out well for them in the end.


	3. Life is but a dream for the dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mali grabbed Michael’s arm, holding it just a little bit_ too _tightly, but Michael didn’t care - he understood how she felt.  
>  “Save him,” she whispered, another tear trailing down her cheek. Michael gave her another brief hug and whispered “I will, I promise” in her ear before darting through the room and to the door on the other side, Ashton in tow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter already! I hope it lives up to your expectations.

_Too much, too late, or just not enough of this pain in my heart for your dying wish._

 

It did work out pretty well for them. As promised, they helped Bob with taking care of the place. That man had become a good friend of them in the period of a four months they’d spend with him. They had even started calling him ‘Old Bob’, which, Michael thought, fit him pretty well. Despite his old age, though, he was still very brisk, full of life and sarcasm, and actually quite a lot of fun to hang out with - which was probably what kept them sane, because Bob was the only person other than themselves they could speak with in that same period of time, and Michael was pretty sure he would have gone crazy if he had only had Ashton. It’s not like the older boy wasn’t fun or anything, but he just wasn’t _Calum_.

It wasn’t the _same_.

Michael and Ashton had just finished helping Old Bob with fixing one of the stairs of the old motel. It had been creaky since long before the pair had come there, as Bob had told them, but now its time had finally run out, as one of the steps had just _collapsed_ when Ashton had made an attempt to go up to his and Michael’s room. The latter had found him with his leg up to above the knee into the wood, and had just laughed at him for a good ten minutes before Old Bob found the both of them - a very amused Michael and a very pissed Ashton - and had joined Michael for a while longer before he wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and went to help the poor boy.

So now, the stairs were fixed and Michael and Ashton were back in their room while Old Bob was downstairs behind the front desk, waiting for customers that wouldn’t come anyway. How he was able to keep the place running, Michael didn’t know.

“Hey, Mikey?” Ashton said, his eyes glued to the screen of the television. Michael was lying on the couch reading a novel that he didn’t even like, but it helped to keep his mind off certain things. He hummed in acknowledgement without looking up as he flipped the page, still annoyed by the fact that Ashton now called him ‘Mikey’ or ‘Mike’. His heard made an unpleasant jump every time he used one of those nicknames, because it always reminded him of _Calum_. Ashton just turned the volume up, making Michael groan in frustration and lift his head at the device. He froze, however, as soon as his eyes landed on the screen, and felt all the blood withdraw from his face, leaving him cold and pale.

A familiar, dark-haired, tanned boy was displayed on the screen. Michael could only watch as four police officers led him into a van and slammed the doors shut behind him. The boy looked up, however, before the doors shut, and his eyes met the camera briefly. Michael felt goosebumps form on his skin as he saw the look in the dark brown eyes, even in that short moment.

Calum looked _empty_ , like he was but a _shell_ of his former self.

Michael had zoned out and was just staring at the screen, not really hearing or seeing anything while his mind replayed memories of his childhood. Then Ashton turned the TV off and crouched down in front of Michael, putting his hands on the younger boy’s knees and looking at him warily. The curly-haired lad swallowed and ran one of his hands up and down Michael’s leg in a comforting gesture that didn’t _quite_ have the effect he was hoping for.

“It’s his time,” he said quietly, making Michael frown in confusion. “It’s been seven months. His execution is tomorrow.” Ashton’s voice was barely above a whisper, because he knew how much Calum meant to Michael and he already felt the heavy sadness gnaw at his heart at the thought of what would be happening tomorrow. Michael’s eyes filled with tears and his mouth dropped open after hearing and processing Ashton’s words. He just stared at the older boy for a few, agonizingly long moments - as Ashton had to see the deep pain in Michael’s eyes, darkening them several shades.

But then Michael put his mask back on and stood up, pushing Ashton out of the way - maybe a bit more harshly than he’d intended - and darted over to where their bags were, pulling out a pair of black skinny jeans and a black sweater. He held them in his hands for a few moments at first, the black fabric heavy in his hands, weighed down by all the memories of when he’d worn these with _Calum_ , and slipped out of his current clothes, changing into the black ones and putting his gun in the waistband of his jeans. Ashton watched him curiously and with a tad of concern visible on his face, but stood up to block Michael’s way as the - now green-haired, as he’d dyed it once again - boy tried to exit the room.  
“Where are you going?” Ashton demanded, standing in front of the door to make sure Michael couldn’t get away. Michael huffed and attempted to get past Ashton, but the older boy wouldn’t budge.

“I’m gonna go save Calum’s stupid ass,” he replied curtly, groaning in frustration as Ashton pushed him back into the room. “If you’d just wait one minute, I’d come with you,” the curly-haired boy said, changing into an outfit similar to Michael’s while the green-haired boy quickly snatched a black beanie from his bag.

They ran into Old Bob in the lobby. The man just shot them a knowing look and nodded once, turning back to the stack of paper on the desk, TV playing mutely in the background.

 

-

 

The car ride to the prison was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Ashton was behind the wheel and Michael was on the passenger’s seat, shifting restlessly the entire time. Calum’s time was running out, they both knew that, and Michael didn’t even dare to think of what was going to happen if they wouldn’t make it in time.

They kept driving until it became dark and Ashton wanted to stop, because it wasn’t safe, but Michael wasn’t having that; he and Ashton switched places so the curly-haired boy could get some rest. Michael kept driving all night long, even when his eyes started to droop and the car was swaying on the road. He didn’t give up, he _had_ to get to Calum in time.

When morning came around and Ashton woke up, he took one look at how Michael looked and immediately demanded to switch again, resulting in the green-haired boy sleeping in the passenger’s seat and Ashton driving, until they finally arrived a few blocks away from the police station. Ashton swung the car into a random parking spot and jumped out, waking Michael when he slammed the door shut. The younger boy joined him as soon as he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the both of them running over to the station. A crowd was gathered on the square in front of the concrete building, probably for the execution - maybe to demonstrate against death penalty. Michael looked around frantically, searching for an entrance. He found one after a while of looking; it was a heavy, black door in the side of the building, not too far away from the cellblock they had been in before they escaped.

It was locked.

Michael cursed and kicked at the door, resulting in him bruising his toe and hopping around in circles, foot in his hands. Ashton rolled his eyes and went over to a window next to it, grabbing his gun in his hand and breaking the glass with the metal. Luckily, nobody saw, as they were all looking at a guy that had emerged from another door, which they had missed because of the crowd. Michael vaguely recognised him as one of the cops from the restaurant - the last one remaining.

Ashton and Michael slipped through the broken window and ended up in a hallway that wasn’t quite as abandoned as they’d hoped it would be. A group of cops was just rounding the corner, and the two boys barely had enough time to stuff themselves into the first door they found - which happened to be a supplies closet, _great_. The sound of footsteps neared, the passed and eventually ceased, when they were far away enough. Michael cautiously opened the door, only to find the hallway now empty. Then Ashton came out as well and grabbed Michael’s upper arm, dragging him into the direction the group of cops just went in. The green-haired boy attempted to free his arm from Ashton’s grasp, looking at him quizzically. “What are you doing?” he asked. Ashton just huffed, turning to Michael.

“Didn’t you see?! That was _Calum_ , you moron. They were taking him to the execution room! He’ll be _dead_ in a few minutes if we don’t do anything right _now_.”

Michael then finally seemed to realise, as he was now the one dragging Ashton into that direction. The room they then came in was quite small, a few chairs being the only furniture in it. One of the walls - the one the chairs were facing, to be exact - was completely made out of glass and allowed people to look into another room, equally small, consisting of nothing but a chair with restraints on it and some machines around it. There were only three other people in the room, who, luckily, were _not_ cops.

They were the Hood family.

Joy and David were sitting in two chairs in the front, holding each other’s hands and obviously trying not to cry. Mali-Koa was in the very back of the room, crying mutely, black mascara running down her cheeks. She was the only one that looked up as Michael and Ashton entered, her eyes widening and putting a hand over her mouth. Michael rushed over to her and engulfed her in a brief hug.

“Where is he?” he pressed. Mali couldn’t do anything but point at the glass and Michael felt his blood run cold.

Two people, a man and a woman, both wearing long white coats, were strapping Calum to the chair. Two of the four policemen were also in the room, but they remained standing at the only door and just watched the scene in front of them. Mali grabbed Michael’s arm, holding it just a little bit _too_ tightly, but Michael didn’t care - he understood how she felt.

“Save him,” she whispered, another tear trailing down her cheek. Michael gave her another brief hug and whispered “I will, I promise” in her ear before darting through the room and to the door on the other side, Ashton in tow. They both grabbed their guns and pressed their backs against the wall next to the door, looking at each other.

“No more kills,” Michael said, voice a bit strained. Ashton nodded and twisted the gun in his hand. “Alright. Just knock them out,” he muttered, putting a hand on the door handle. Michael swallowed and braced himself as Ashton then forcefully swung the door open so it collided with one of the cops on the other side. The green-haired boy then went in, hitting the other cop in the side of the head with the heavy metal of his gun. The man groaned and fell to the ground, blood staining the side of his head. In the meantime, Ashton had taken care of the other cop and now both boys were stalking forward, guns at the ready and aimed at the man and woman in the coats.

 

_Well, I can._

 

“Hands up,” Ashton demanded, which they immediately obeyed to when they saw the state the two cops were in. “Step back, face to the wall,” the curly-haired boy continued, walking up to them to keep an eye on them while Michael walked over to where Calum was strapped to the chair.

The tanned boy was _frighteningly_ skinny, his cheeks were sunk in and his face was a kind of grey pale. His black hair was greasy and dull and stuck to his forehead. Michael threaded his hand through it and brushed it away from his forehead as tears filled his eyes. Calum was crying mutely, biting his already torn and bleeding lip so stifle his sobs as he looked up at Michael with a terrified look in his eyes. Michael felt the tears burn in his eyes before they started making their way down his cheeks, dripping onto the floor and the chair and _Calum_ , but neither of the boys cared or even _noticed_ as Michael started undoing the restraints with some struggles and eventually lifted Calum up bridle style as soon as he was able to. The younger boy clung to him like a small kid, hiding his face in the crook of Michael’s neck and continuing to cry silently. Ashton looked at them with a fond and relieved look in his eyes, but the edge of fear was still evident. “We gotta go, _now_. It’d be a miracle if they hadn’t noticed already,” he said, backing out of the room with Michael following right behind him. He had had to put away his gun because he couldn’t carry Calum and keep it in his hand at the same time, so Ashton walked in front of them to keep the way clear. As they went back into the watching room, or whatever it was called, David and Joy looked at them with a mixture of horror and fear, while Mali-Koa just looked relieved. Michael carried Calum over to Mali to give her a few seconds to say something to him, which was nothing more - but also nothing _less_ \- than a quick “I love you” and a soft kiss to his forehead, but Calum managed a smile, albeit watery, before Michael carried him out of the room. In the hallway, they ran into some cops guiding a group of prisoners back to their cells. They’d probably been in the courtyard for lunch break or something, Michael guessed. Ashton gasped, his eyes focused on one of the prisoners - a freakishly tall but scrawny, blonde guy with a black lip ring. His hands weren’t even cuffed, and he was walking in between two prisoners without being touched. He spun around upon hearing Ashton’s gasp, though, and his eyes widened when he saw the curly-haired boy. Ashton immediately surged forward, grabbing the boy’s arm and pulling him along, Michael following close behind. They made it out of the building before the cops had the chance to react.

But there they were met with another problem: the crowd, and, not to forget, the _cops_ that were all over the place. Michael put Calum down carefully and then took his own sweater off, replacing it with the tanned boy’s prison shirt, so Calum would have something more comfortable to wear.

(Michael tried to ignore the fact that he could very clearly count each and every one of Calum’s ribs when he took his shirt off.)

He also put his beanie on Calum’s head and kissed his nose, before hoisting the younger boy on his back, giving him a piggy-back ride as they ran across the courtyard. Michael was pretty sure the cops spotted them - the orange shirt was probably a dead giveaway - but they kept going, even sped up, though it was quite hard for Michael to keep running with Calum on his back. Ashton stayed next to them, making sure Michael didn’t trip and kept glancing over his shoulder to the policemen there while still pulling the blonde boy forward by the arm.

When they finally reached the car, Michael froze - a cop was standing in front of it, looking severely pissed off and slightly _out of his mind_ , Michael thought. He was grinning like a madman while swirling his gun around in his fingers, but also looked like he could burst into tears any moment.

It was the last remaining cop from the restaurant.

Michael hoisted Calum up a bit, as he had slipped down slightly because of the running. He and Ashton shared a look, but just at that moment, the cop got such a _furious_ expression on his face that it scared Calum - who was the only one that saw it - and he was about to mutter a warning when the man pulled the trigger, gun aimed at Michael.

The green-haired boy let out a scream of pain and collapsed to the ground, Calum falling off his back in the process. Cal let out a strangled, frightened cry and took Michael into his arms, tears of terror burning in his eyes. Michael’s face was distorted in pain and blood gushed freely out of a wound on his thigh, colouring everything a bright red and spreading a coppery scent.

Then a second gunshot sounded and Calum looked up, terrified, but this time it was Ashton who had fired the gun. The cop bumped against the car, before sliding to the ground and falling on his side. Ashton rushed to Michael, immediately pressing his hands over the bleeding wound. Michael cried out in pain and tried to push his hands away, but Calum stopped him, aware that it was necessary, even if it hurt. Ashton’s hands turned red with Michael’s blood terrifyingly fast and just at that moment, the cops decided to show up. About ten to twenty police officers were heading their way, with equally as many guns, and Michael felt a wave of desperation hit him as he realised that they were really caught this time. The blonde boy was looking around nervously and _scared_ , staying close to Ashton but also staying _away_ from the blood.

“Ash, what’s going on?” he asked, but Ashton just shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes as he looked at the boy on the ground.

But just as all hope seemed lost, a big, red truck showed up, honking loudly while the passenger’s door flung open. Ashton started laughing, almost hysterically, relief written all over his face as he saw the driver. Michael couldn’t see from where he was situated on the ground, but then Ashton lifted him up over his shoulder and all but chucked him onto the passenger’s seat, lifting Calum and the other guy in behind him before climbing in himself.

“Put him in the back,” the driver said, and Michael _knew_ that voice, but his mind was kind of clouded with the stinging pain from the gunshot wound in his thigh and his eyes were trying to roll back into his head. He didn’t re-open them until he heard Calum sob and got worried about the younger boy. He felt Ashton lift him up and put him down somewhere in the back while the truck kept moving. It was one of those trucks that had a curtain behind the driver, that led to another, small room.

“C’mon, Michael, stay with me,” he heard Ashton mumble from somewhere very far away. A hand was put on his arm and although it felt weird, almost like he was _foreign_ to his own body, he immediately recognised it as Calum’s.

“Where would I be going?” Michael tried to ask, but his words were kind of slurred and he didn’t like that, because he couldn’t control it. But then he felt Ashton’s fingers working on the button of his jeans and he protested weakly, attempting to push the older boy’s hands away, because _no, he didn’t want that, what the hell_.

He also tried to tell Ashton that, but the words just wouldn’t come out and his vision was going slightly burry at the edges, and he did _not_ like this _at all_.

But then Calum’s hands gently grabbed his and peppered kissed all over his fingers and Michael was slightly okay again.

“I’m sorry Mikey, this is gonna hurt a little,” he vaguely heard Ashton say, but he was lying half on Calum and there was this slight buzz in his ears and his vision was a bit blurred and it kind of felt like he was drunk, but he _knew_ he wasn’t.

Then Ashton pressed a towel onto his leg to stem the bleeding and Michael screamed.

Calum shushed him, whispering comforting words in his ear while Michael kept cussing and thrashing in an attempt to get away from the pain in his thigh, but Calum nor Ashton budged. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he finally went limp and clung to Calum like a frightened child, grabbing fistfuls of the younger boy’s shirt. The pain had caused the almost pleasant fog and blur in his mind and vision to fade, but now he was left with the burning, stinging _agony_ in his leg.

“What happened?” he asked through gritted teeth. Calum just shushed him and ran a hand through his green hair. “You got shot,” he whispered silently, almost like he was afraid to say that word. Michael groaned in pain and opened his eyes, taking one look at the _huge_ pool of blood on the floor of the truck and felt a wave of nausea hit him. Calum just pulled Michael’s head against his chest and held the older boy close, silent tears streaming down his face, but he managed to hold in his sobs now. Ashton looked panicked as the towel he was pressing against Michael’s leg turned bright red _very_ quickly. He had a big, wet patch in his jeans, and the thick, warm liquid was still flowing out of the wound on Michael’s thigh. Ashton cursed flamboyantly, muttering inappropriate words Michael hadn’t even _heard_ of before, as he pressed a clean towel to said boy’s leg. Michael just gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on Calum’s - or technically his own - shirt, but he felt kind of weak, like his strength was seeping away from him through the wound as well.

“Fuck, Michael, come on, we got away from death row, I am not letting you die from a fucking gunshot wound in the back of a truck,” Ashton cried, a few tears slipping from under his eyelids, but he wiped them away furiously, accidentally smearing Michael’s blood on his face. He laughed almost hysterically when he realised, but kept firm pressure on the wound.

Old Bob yelled instructions at them from the front. “Is the bullet still in his leg? Because if it is, it has to be removed first.”

Ashton cursed again and took a deep breath before lifting Michael’s leg a bit, luckily spotting an exit wound. “No, it went through,” he said, sounding relieved. Bob let out a relieved sigh as well. “That’s good. Or well, not _too_ bad. We can fix it. Just tie something around the wound really tightly, make sure there’s enough pressure on it and don’t let him fall asleep.”

Ashton nodded, even though Old Bob wouldn’t be able to see that, and grabbed another towel off of the pile that Bob had stashed in there for some weird reason with one hand, quickly switching towels and tying the fresh one around Michael’s leg as tight as he could manage - which wasn’t easy with the soft fabric, but he managed quite a good job anyway. He did keep his hands firmly pressed to the wound, though, just to be sure.

“How did you know where we were?” Ashton asked Bob as soon as the thought crossed his mind. The old man just laughed and rounded a corner, causing the boys in the back to almost tumble over.

“I followed ya,” he said easily. “You were being real’ suspicious in all black and I just wanted to make sure you stayed outta trouble. I’ve grown too attached to you the past months, can’t just let you get arrested for some stupid mischief, now can I?”

Ashton gaped at the curtain that separated them from Old Bob for a few moments before letting out a slightly breathless laugh. “You might be old, but your instincts are still almost creepily good,” he said, grinning despite the situation. Michael managed a smile as well as Old Bob cackled from the front. “Please, I am flawless,” he giggled, hiccupping a bit before scraping his throat. “How’s Green Boy doing? He still with us?” he asked warily. Michael croaked out an “Of course, where would I be?” and they all heard Bob mutter a prayer. “Let’s hope you’ll stay, kid.”

 

_I’ll kiss your lips again._

 

“Seriously, Ashton, what the _fuck_ is going on?” the blonde, who Michael had completely forgotten about, demanded, and Ashton let out a sigh before extending one arm in the direction of the boy. He crawled up to the tattooed boy and pressed himself up against his side, head resting on his shoulder.

“Do you know what punishment the judge gave me?” he asked, and the boy shook his head, frowning. “No, I don’t, they wouldn’t let me see you,” he answered. Ashton sighed and pulled the boy closer as Calum now took over taking care of Michael. “I got death penalty,” Ashton said softly, staring straight ahead. “That’s why they wouldn’t let me see you. But Michael and I escaped, and we went back to get his best friend, Calum. He was supposed to get his injection today.”

Luke gasped and clung to Ashton even more than before. “Oh my god... I didn’t know... I’m so sorry.”

Ashton smiled, albeit a bit watery. “It’s okay Luke, you couldn’t have known.”

Realization dawned on Michael - this blonde guy was _Luke_ , Ashton’s best friend. The one he’d _killed_ for. He was to Ashton what Calum was to Michael.

“We still have a long drive ahead of us,” Old Bob announced then, “so try to get comfortable, but don’t let Michael fall asleep.”

Calum pulled Michael up a bit, so he was sitting in between the tanned boy’s legs, his injured one stretched and Calum’s hands around his waist. Luke cuddled into Ashton, and that’s pretty much how they spent the rest of the ride back to the motel.

 

-

 

“I don’t think the cops managed to follow us here,” Old Bob said as he walked into the back when they safely returned. “There’s a lot of trucks going this way, so they probably lost us. I haven’t seen them for two hours, at least.” He shot a look at Michael. The green-haired boy looked deadly pale and he was covered in sweat, his eyelids half closed and barely even conscious anymore. Despite the towel around his leg, another puddle of blood had formed on the floor, next to the larger one. Michael felt nauseous from the coppery smell that now filled the entire truck.

“C’mon, let’s get him inside,” Bob said, watching as Ashton gathered Michael in his arms and carried him out of the truck bridle-style - Calum would’ve done that, but he wasn’t strong enough, and Ashton obviously had enough muscle, so he and Luke just followed them closely.

Michael could barely even see anything anymore, his vision was blurry all over now and going black at the edges. The voices he heard seemed to come from the other end of a tunnel, they sounded slightly muffled and echoed through his skull almost painfully.

He didn’t register when Ashton lay him on one of the beds in their room and removed the towel. Old Bob shooed the three other boys out of the room and took care of his leg, bandaging it tightly, making sure the wound would finally stop bleeding. Michael could feel himself starting to dose off, but he tried to fight it, because he remembered Bob saying that he _couldn’t_ go to sleep, but _damn_ , that was hard.

“You’re doing great, Michael,” Bob said, but it took Michael about a minute to register that. In the meantime, Ashton had returned to the room with clean hands, carrying a tray with a sandwich and a glass of orange juice. He put the tray on the bedside drawer and propped Michael up against some pillows at the headboard of the bed, feeding him little bits of the sandwich and carefully letting him drink from the glass, insisting he needed to eat and drink before he could go to sleep. After he’d finished the meal, Calum came back into the room and Ashton and Old Bob left. The tanned boy climbed into the bed next to him and spooned him, stroking Michael’s back in a comforting manner.

“Get some rest, Mikey,” Calum whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the green-haired boy’s temple. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

 

-

 

When Michael woke up, it was dark outside. He was cold, despite being cuddled by Calum under the covers and the heater being on, but at least his mind wasn’t foggy anymore. He moved a bit but froze as pain shot through his leg. Calum woke up from the movement however, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes cutely before opening them. He smiled as soon as he saw that Michael was awake.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, voice hoarse with sleep, and Michael smiled back at him. “Fine. Still hurts though, but I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore.”

Calum’s smile brightened and he nuzzled his nose in Michael’s neck. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, clinging to Michael like he was afraid the green-haired boy would disappear if he let him go. Michael ran a hand through Calum’s dark locks. “If getting shot means I can save your life, then I’ll gladly do it again.”

Calum then glared at him and pouted, causing Michael to laugh softly.

“I’m sorry,” Calum muttered suddenly, surprising Michael. He frowned and pulled the younger boy closer to his chest. “Why? What are you sorry for?”

“For not going with you when I had the chance,” Calum whispered, resting his head on Michael’s chest to listen to the steady beating of his heart. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I-”

Michael cut him off by pressing a gentle but firm kiss to his lips.

“I _do_ know what you were thinking,” he whispered after he broke the kiss, forehead still resting against Calum’s and their lips so close they were breathing each other’s air. “But you shouldn’t think like that. You _don’t_ deserve to die, and I need you, so please never do so.”

Calum smiled a little, but his gaze shifted to Michael’s lips before coming back up to meet his green eyes. “It was hell, all those months without you,” he whispered, and Michael could only softly hum his agreement. “It was. I missed you so much.”

And then their lips were connected again, in a much more passionate kiss this time, and Michael felt _whole_ again.

 

-

 

A few days later, Michael was able to walk again. He still felt a nagging ache in his leg, but he could ignore that - it wasn’t too bad. Old Bob still didn’t allow him to help around the motel, while he practically forced the other boys to do so. (Not that they minded.)

After Michael and Calum’s first kiss, they hadn’t really spoken of it anymore. Things weren’t awkward between them, though, they had just looked into each other’s eyes for a moment and kissed again, silently agreeing that they were together now, like really properly _together_.

Michael didn’t think he’d ever been _happier_ in his entire life.

He kind of _had_ expected it to _last_ this time, though. But no, he was Michael Clifford, he had the _worst_ luck in the world. Of _course_ it wouldn’t last, he should’ve known that.

 

Ashton had been fixing the broken neon letter ‘e’ on the façade of the motel when he’d faintly heard police sirens in the distance. When he climbed a bit higher on the ladder, he could see some blue and red lights flashing occasionally, through the arid vegetation. He came storming into the lobby wide-eyed, making everyone look at him worriedly.

“Police,” was the only thing he managed to say, and if it hadn’t been for Old Bob, the four boys would’ve probably just sat there panicking until the cops came in and arrested - or _killed_ \- them.

“Get supplies on the truck,” Bob said, turning to Luke and Calum. “Food, water, blankets, also make sure there’s plenty of gasoline in the tank and stash some in the back.”

 

_Do you have the keys to the hotel? Because I’m gonna string this motherfucker on fire!_

 

The two youngest boys nodded and took off to the supply room and kitchen to get the stuff they needed. Old Bob then looked at Michael and Ashton. “You two, come with me,” he said, gesturing for them to follow him, which they did. He led them to the basement of the motel. It was a small, musty room, and the only things stored in the were gasoline and oil - a _lot_ of barrels and containers of it. Michael raised an eyebrow as Old Bob grabbed a jerry can in each hand and started to carry them up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” he asked, Ashton looking just as confused as he did. Bob stopped walking and turned around, looking a bit annoyed. “I’m gonna go make sure there will be no trace left of you guys being here,” he said simply, turning back around and disappearing up the stairs. Ashton and Michael shared a look for a few seconds before both grabbing a barrel and carrying it up the stairs. Michael needed a little help from the older boy because of his leg, but eventually they got the job done - they’d brought jerry cans and barrels of gasoline and oil to every floor of the motel and also left some in the basement. Michael turned to Old Bob, who just entered their room carrying a last container.

“Grab your stuff,” the man said, putting the barrel down and removed the cap. “And also your friends’. We’re leaving.”

Michael stared at him for a moment before nodding curtly and grabbing everything he’d brought here, stuffing his belongings in a sports bag, gathering Calum’s stuff when he was done with his own. Ashton did the same thing in the meantime, only for his own and Luke’s things. When they were done, they turned to Old Bob, who nodded contently and pushed the big barrel filled with gasoline over. Michael screeched, staring at the old man in shock. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, looking at the liquid that was now spilling all over the floor and under the furniture. Bob just grinned and grabbed one of the jerry cans, soaking both of the beds with the fuel.

“Erasing all traces,” he replied. He’d gone mad, Michael decided, but then Ashton took his upper arm and started guiding him down the stairs and to the truck. They chucked their bags in the small room behind the curtain and then went to help Luke and Calum with loading the supplies. The truck was parked on its usual spot next to the motel, about ten metres away from it. When they finished, they just waited outside for Old Bob to come out and tell them what to do next. Eventually, after what seemed like _hours_ to the four boy - it actually wasn’t more than ten minutes, but the police sirens were getting louder and clearer and they didn’t even have to climb on a higher surface to see the flashing lights - he exited the motel, but Michael could immediately see something was wrong. Bob was clutching his chest and stumbling forwards, and eventually fell to the ground with a thud. Ashton was couching down next to him within a second, the other boys following instantly.

“Get me... back inside,” the man gasped, apparently unable to breathe properly. Ashton obeyed anyway, gathering the old man in his arms and taking him inside. The carpeting in the lobby was soaked, however, and Ashton pulled a face as it made a squelching sound when he stepped on it. It smelled like a gas station in the building, the stench of gasoline clearly evident in the air. Ashton made his way to Old Bob’s bedroom and lay the man down on his bed.

“What happened in here?” Calum asked, noticing the empty jerry cans everywhere on the floor. Bob let out a cackling laugh, but it was slightly breathless.

“You need to light it,” he said, grabbing Michael’s hand and pressing a box of matches in it, closing his fist around it, and chucking a set of keys in Ashton’s direction. “I’m not gonna make it,” Bob then whispered, one hand clutched over his chest, on the place where his heart was. “My heart isn’t what it used to be.” He had to pause for a moment to take some deep breaths. Michael was going pale at a fast pace and Ashton just stared at the man, shocked from what he heard. Calum and Luke weren’t as close with him as them, so they stood back a bit.

“Go,” Old Bob panted, taking Michael’s hand in his, eyes radiating an _urgency_  that made goosebumps erupt on Michael’s skin. Ashton put his hand on the man’s arm, and Bob grabbed onto his forearm with his other hand tightly. “Get away before the cops get here.” He swallowed and clearly struggled to get his next words out. “Stay safe Mike, Ash. And stay alive.”

Then his eyes closed and, with a final puff of air, his body went still, hands releasing Michael’s own one and Ashton’s arm, falling on the bed limply.

 

_And well, I won’t go down by myself._

Both boys kept staring at him for a few moments, completely overwhelmed by the sudden twist of events, but then Calum stepped forward, putting his hands around Michael’s waist and gently pulling the older boy away from the bed.

“Come on, we really need to go now,” he whispered in Michael’s ear. Luke was doing the same thing with Ashton, gently coaxing the tattooed boy to come along. Eventually both of them complied, walking out of the room and softly closing the door behind them.

The four boys rushed through the lobby and out of the motel, only to me greeted with screeching tires and slamming doors, over twenty policemen jumping out of their cars and pulling their guns out.

“Police! Come out of the building with your hands raised!”

Michael cursed and made an emergency stop, but it was too late - the cops had already spotted them. One of the police officers yelled something and barely even a second later, most of the cops were storming forward, into the motel.

“Backdoor!” Ashton yelled, grabbing the back of Luke’s shirt and pulling the blond boy with him, Michael and Calum following close behind. The four boys raced through the lobby, little drops of gasoline splashing up when they put their foot down on a particularly wet spot in the carpeting. The cops didn’t seem to have noticed the fuel yet, luckily.

Ashton ripped the backdoor open and darted outside, Luke and Calum stepping out behind him. Michael remained inside, however, and grabbed the box of matches from his pocket. He fumbled with it a bit, taking one match out and attempting to light it, but his hands were shaking and he dropped it. Cursing profoundly, he took another one and hauled it over the side of the box, inflaming it. Just at that moment, a cop rounded the corner and spotted him, though. Michael looked him directly in the eye as the man grabbed his gun, but he was too late - Michael chucked the match forward and then darted out of the backdoor as fast as he could, barely making it out of the door before the entire floor erupted in a sea of flames. They could hear muffled screams coming from inside the motel, but did their best to ignore it as they ran a bit further, making sure there was enough distance between them and the old, creaky shack, that they’d managed to refurbish quite good nevertheless.

Michael stared up at the burning building. Skyrocketing flames came out of the windows and licked at the walls, turning them black and making them crumble down slowly but surely. The fire roared, almost angrily, like it was avenging Old Bob’s death - even though nobody really could’ve done anything about that. The policemen had completely forgotten about the four boys at this point - the few that hadn’t went inside were yelling into their radios and staring at the entrance.

Michael engulfed Calum in a hug, feeling the sudden desire to hold the boy, to hold _his_ boy. Calum hugged him back immediately, breathing in his scent, which was slightly disrupted with the stench of gasoline. The four boys looked each other in the eye for a few moments, knowing it wasn’t over and not entirely ready to leave this place - their new _home_ \- yet, but they also knew they _had_ to go now, or else everything Old Bob had done for them would’ve been for nothing.

“We need to go,” Michael whispered, clinging to Calum with all strength he had in him. The tanned boy held him just as tightly. “Bob has done _so_ much for us, the least we can do is make his last wish come true.” He paused for a few seconds, for dramatic effect - because he was still _Michael Clifford_ , okay - before continuing. “Stay safe, and stay alive.”

All of them nodded then and they started making their way to the big red truck, making sure the cops didn’t see them.

Ashton grabbed the keys of the truck from his pocket and held them up triumphantly. The four boys climbed into the truck and Ashton switched on the engine, making the vehicle roar to life. He turned to the other boys, grief and excitement evident in their eyes.

“Ready to be free?” he asked them, and, as they all cheered their agreements, Ashton steered the truck out of the driveway, and soon they were barrelling further down the road that had led them to the motel, their entire lives still ahead of them.

Michael turned to Calum, who was grinning widely despite - and because of - _everything_. He took the boy’s tanned hand in his and held onto it tightly, not planning on _ever_ letting it go again.

Michael and Calum were partners in crime, and it would always be that way.

 

_But I’ll go down with my friends._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end. Please give me feedback and tell me what you thought of it? I really hope you liked it! Lots of love x


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